


Cadeau

by sawbones



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Coercion, Drug Addiction, Gaslighting, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver doesn't appreciate his brother's thoughtful gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cadeau

**Author's Note:**

> Please note this fanfic contains nearly 5000 words of rape (by drugging and coercion), incest, abuse, manipulation of addiction, memory manipulation/gaslighting and other content which some people can find deeply distressing. Read at your own discretion. It's also unbeta'd so excuse any glaring mistakes.

"Do you trust me?" Hawke asked.

"With my life," Fenris replied without hesitation. It was true, though the way he was looking at him made his pulse quicken.

"Of course you do."

Hawke drifted behind him, circling him like a shark in bloodied water, but he didn't dare turn around. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as strong hands came to rest on his arms. He forced himself to not flinch or pull away, nor to let his breath hitch. There was a chuckle at his ear as a warm body pressed up against him - was he really so obvious? The hands on his arms slid down to his wrists and carefully but firmly pulled them to the small of his back and held them there. When they were released, they stayed. He knew that silent command better than most. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

"Hawke--" Fenris began, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He didn't like this game; he didn't like how well his body responded to it. Muscle memory, they called it. You never truly forget something you've done a thousand times - and Hawke knew it. Sometimes he pressed those buttons for business; other times, pleasure. There was no way to be certain which would be which. He was quickly shushed by the sensation of lips ghosting along his shoulder, teeth gently grazing his neck. He shuddered and closed his eyes, let his head loll to the side. He was a fool for those lips. Suddenly Fenris felt the creeping prickle of magic on his hands and instinctively jerked away from it with a muffled yelp, only to find his arms were bound fast. He tried to twist free, "Hawke, you promised--"

"Fenris, still yourself," Hawke murmured as he held onto the squirming elf, "It's just a binding spell instead of cuffs. You're safe with me. You do trust me, right?"

The mage smiled warmly when Fenris threw a pointed glare over his shoulder. Magic itched at his arms like a thousand insects, it made his skin crawl but he could feel his resistance melt under the heat of that smile. He dropped his gaze to the floor, accepting his position even as the voice at the back of his mind screamed in protest. If he behaved, he knew the whole process would be much smoother - perhaps he would even be rewarded. Fenris cursed himself. _Pathetic_. Even the thought of it grated against what was left of his pride, the part of him that had been so dutifully worn down. He would endure magic on his person - something he had sworn against with agonized breath - to beg for scraps of Hawke's approval. The mage circled him again, trailing his fingers across the lyrium engraved on his chest and making him shiver.

"You're so good to me, Fenris. So well behaved," Hawke sighed as he stepped away. He busied himself at the desk for a moment, though Fenris couldn't see what he was doing. There was a glug of liquid, and when he turned back again he was holding a goblet of wine, "You look especially beautiful tonight. I'm glad. Here, drink."

_I'm glad_. Fenris swallowed the dark liquid unquestioningly. It was a particularly fine vintage and when Hawke took away the goblet he tried to chase it, accidentally spilling some down his chin. For a brief second the other man looked annoyed and Fenris' heart seized, but it was seamlessly replaced by a casual smile and a half-laugh. _As though I was a clumsy child_ , he thought to himself, though there was nothing paternal about the way Hawke held his throat loosely in one hand. He ran his tongue deftly along his jawline to his chin to catch the escaped droplets. His grip tightened, forcing him to open his mouth as he lapped entreatingly at his slack lips, his teeth, tasting him. Fenris pushed forward, trying to deepen it into something like a kiss but Hawke pulled away with a wry grin.

"Always so eager," he mused softly, still holding him firmly by the neck. Panic rose in Fenris and he fought to keep his breath steady as those fingers squeezed a little tighter, as a warning or simply because Hawke liked the way it made him lose focus. He was released and that smile was back again, the damnable smile that made his heart swell and his stomach sink. The smile that could precede the sweetest caress or being wiped off the face of the earth in a hail of fire - Hawke's smile, "You might want to sit down, love."

Fenris’ brow knotted in confusion. The mage gestured at the bed behind him, and he knew better than to have him ask twice. He took one step forward and his knees nearly buckled under him, making him gasp in surprise. Without his arms he couldn't right himself and it was only because of Hawke grabbing him that he didn't fall over. He tried to stand steady but he swayed dangerously, sudden waves of weakness crashing over him. Hawke made a scornful noise.

"Did you skip dinner again, Fenris? It shouldn't take effect this quickly," he said sternly. Fenris blinked at him, the edges of his vision starting to blur. He began to list and Hawke pushed him ungracefully onto the bed. Clever hands undid the laces of his leggings, pulling them down past his thighs. He struggled weakly, earning him a dangerous look, "You've been doing so well tonight. Do not ruin it now."

His lips moved uselessly as he tried to demand what was going on, but he could make no sound beyond a coarse wordless moan. Hawke's expression softened as he stroked his hair gently. Fenris’ eyes fluttered at the familiar touch. What was this poison? Why drug him when he was already bound and willing? When Hawke deviated, things went wrong. He began to panic in earnest and his tattoos flickered in response.

"That's it, light up for me," Hawke whispered encouragingly. He took a step away from the bed and seemed pleased with what he saw, "Perfect. You're just perfect, Fenris. If only you could see yourself. What a lovely face you're making."

With a sigh and a last lingering look, Hawke left Fenris' line of vision. He could hardly move his head to watch him go but he heard the door open and close behind him. He screwed his eyes shut tightly and tried to focus his strength to sit up, to break his bonds, anything but lie there. With a herculean effort he managed to wriggle onto his side, his shoulders protesting painfully but the harder he tried the weaker he felt, pushing the poison through his system until he could barely do anything but concentrate on breathing. He could feel bile and acid rise in his throat. Hawke pushed him further with every 'session' they had, further than he ever thought he would be willing to go, but he wasn't ready for this. He didn't want to do this.

It felt like Hawke was gone for an eternity, though in reality it was likely less than ten minutes. Fenris was finding it difficult to hold onto consciousness, but a muffled voice at the door brought him half-way back to his senses. He strained his ears to make out the words and realised with horror that there wasn't one voice, but two. The door swung open and Hawke stepped into the room. He smiled at the elf before stepping aside with a sweeping gesture.

"Welcome home, little brother."

Carver looked like shit. Even from the bed Fenris could see the dark circles bruising the hollows of his eyes, the sheen of sweat on his pale skin. His gaze was frantic, darting restlessly around the room until it came to rest with arrow-tip intensity on his prone figure.  If it was possible he blanched even further and grabbed Hawke's arm, his expression contorted into fear or disgust.

"What have you _done_ ," he hissed. Hawke calmly pried the warrior's hand off him with a winsome smile.

"I got you a present, Carver," he said through clenched teeth. His grin never faltered. Fenris felt sick, "Don't you like it?"

Carver backed away from his brother, bumping into the doorframe. He wiped his face with his hand and shook his head unsteadily, "That isn't a present, Garrett. That's Fenris. That's your friend! You can't just-- oh, Maker..."

The younger brother suddenly spasmed in pain and doubled over with a gasp. Hawke simply nodded and walked towards the bed where he sat down beside Fenris, propped his snowy head on his lap and began to lightly stroke his hair again. He sat in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment while Carver tried to compose himself.

"How many days now?"

His mouth pressed into a tight white line, Carver shook his head again. He was shaking, a subtle tremor in his hand that gripped the doorframe. Though Hawke was not forcing him to stay, he had made no attempt to leave, "Ten. Ten days."

"And how many more to go?"

"Fuck you," the templar spat, making Hawke laugh.

"You see Fenris, Carver here is being punished. Harbouring mage sympathies, they say. Won’t do what he’s supposed to do. They've cut him off from his lyrium fix until he learns better. Oh, what a bad little templar he's been," Hawke hummed in his most patronizing voice. Without warning he dug his fingers into Fenris’ scalp, sharply tugging his hair and forcing his head back. He hissed in pain, his lyrium igniting and briefly casting the room in a ghastly blue light. Carver groaned like he had been punched in the stomach, "But I'd never let my baby brother go hungry."

Carver looked as though he was on the verge of collapse: he was sweating profusely, his eyes glassy and his lips drawn back in a grimace. His breathing was quick, shallow, and Fenris wanted to call out to him - _don't, please go, don't look at me_. He knew where to get lyrium. Hawke knew where to get lyrium. This didn't have to happen. Carver shut the door behind him with trembling hands and with each uncertain step forward, Fenris felt a stab in his chest. It was as though his ribcage was in a vice and he could barely breathe as it tightened, and when the templar laid his hands on him he was certain it would splinter under the pressure. He twisted, his legs twitching as he tried to kick out and tears pricking his eyes but it was pointless. Behind him he felt Hawke move, sliding his stave-chafed hands under him to lift him up like an offering to his little brother. Carver buried his face against Fenris’ neck, his strong arms crushing him close as he nuzzled in a way that could have once been intimate. His cheeks were wet, Fenris realised, and his lips were moving against his skin in apology or prayer. It made him angry. It made him scared. He tried to phase, tried to spirit blast, but he could do little but make Carver moan as his tattoos guttered like a dying candle.

Hawke sighed happily. Fenris couldn't see him but he could feel his wandering hands, the hot breath against the crown of his head and the erection pressing patiently at his back. In another time and place, he would have arched back and tipped his head against his shoulder, mouth slack and waiting for tongue or fingers. Instead he could only shudder and grit his teeth.

"Here, little brother. Touch him here," Hawke said as he pinched one of the elf's dusky nipples between thumb and forefinger, making him writhe, "He's sensitive. Be gentle."

Though not cruel, Carver was not gentle. His hands were too big and too clumsy as he pawed at that delicate part of him, making him hiss in pain. _I'm sorry_ , he mouthed against Fenris' jaw as he pressed down on him, his teeth scraping against jugular and lyrium lines with intent. It offered him no comfort. Hawke's hands reached around him and impatiently tugged at the laces on his brother's vest, pushing and pulling it off his broad shoulders until the boy finally noticed and took the hint. He rocked back onto his heels and stripped it off, tossing it carelessly behind him. His eyes were red and unfocused, his movements automatic and jerky. His hands hesitated at the waistband of his breeches, but only for a moment. His cock was like the rest of him: thick, flushed, heavy. He was half-hard and ashamed of it but the tremor from his hands was gone as he pushed Fenris' thighs apart. He settled between them, pressing his face against his stomach, his chest, holding him down and holding him close as though he was trying to sink into him. Carver had a beautiful body, strong in limb and thick in chest; a perfect specimen, a perfect warrior. Fenris hated himself for noticing and - for the briefest second - wanting. _Not like this_ , was his mantra. _Not like this, never like this_.

Without warning, Hawke's solid presence holding Fenris up disappeared. Unable to support himself, his head dropped to the mattress and he found himself staring at the rich canopy above the bed. He screwed his eyes shut; _I'll have to take it down, I'll have to take it all away._ He would never lie in that bed again, not after this. From somewhere he couldn't see there was the clinking of glass and then a cork being pulled, and by the way Carver's head jerked up like it was on a string, Fenris knew it wasn't more poison. His eyes were all but glittering as Hawke crawled back onto the bed, reflecting the dim blue glow from the vial and making the mage laugh. He reached out to grab it but his brother swatted his hand away and tutted.

"Don't be rude," Hawke chided. His knees dug into the soft bed on either side of Fenris’ head and he was naked from the waist down. He dipped his pinky into the potion before sucking it clean with an obscene pop, "If you want it, you have to ask nicely."

"Please," Carver said immediately. His voice cracked, "Please, Garrett. Please, just a drop. Please."

Hawke smiled brightly as though genuinely happy. He dribbled some of the lyrium on two of his fingers, spilling droplets of it onto Fenris’ face and neck. The elf jerked as it tingled and burned, tugging at the lyrium in his skin. He held out his fingers to Carver who accepted them into his mouth without resistance, "So you can be taught manners after all. Mother would be pleased."

Fenris felt Carver's fists tighten in the bedsheets and he silently willed him to bite those damned fingers off, but he didn't. He kept his gazed lowered, fixated on lapping up every bit of lyrium. Hawke pulled his hand back, making his brother chase the last few drops with his mouth open and tongue out like a whore.

"Do you want more?" Hawke asked. He stroked his brother's hair fondly, and even though it had been such a small dose there was colour in Carver's cheeks that hadn't been there before. Carver nodded jerkily, and from his shirt pocket Hawke produced a small tub of salve. The templar looked confused for a moment before his eyes went wide.

"Garrett, I can't. I couldn't--," he stumbled over his words, looking from Hawke to Fenris and back again, "Don't make me do this."

The mage rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't pretend like you don't want to. I remember the way you used to look at him. You always want what your big brother has, don't you?"

"No," Carver hissed, his jaw muscles working as he struggled to hold his brother's gaze. Fenris tried to kick his legs, sick of being spoken about as though he wasn't even there, but he was still pinned down and immobile, "Not like this."

"Look, I'll help you," Hawke said. He bent over Fenris and stroked his cheek before planting a would-be-sweet kiss on his brow. He then uncorked another vial of lyrium from his pocket and smeared half the contents over the elf's slack lips and into his mouth. It stung and itched, tasting like ozone and smoke as it hit the back of his throat and made him retch, "You can even say I forced you."

Carver looked him in the eye for the first time since he had come into the room, and Fenris wanted to spit the lyrium in his face. Trapped in his body as the warrior dipped down to kiss him softly, almost tenderly, he could do nothing but curse them all: Carver, Hawke, the templars and their addictive filth. _This is what I get for trusting a mage_ , he thought bitterly as a tentative tongue probed at his lips and strong fingers pressed at his jaw to force it open. His tongue invaded deeper, pressing past teeth that would have bitten down if they could, and he moaned wetly. He rocked against Fenris, hard and needy, and with his free hand he tried to stroke the elf into some state of arousal.

"You're wasting your time there. He's stubborn like that," Hawke said as casually as though he was talking about a misbehaving child or poorly trained pet. He tossed the pot of salve at him, "Here. Turn him over."

Carver pushed himself onto his hands and knees and Fenris tried to beg with his eyes to stop, but it was futile. He couldn't stop even if he wanted too. He touched the elf's cheek, traced the lyrium lines from his chin down his neck to his chest, let his hand linger open-palmed over his racing heart. Hawke made an impatient noise.

"Garrett..." Carver protested weakly one last time. There was a crackle of static in the air as Hawke bristled threateningly. _Don't make him mad, you stupid boy_. He'd been given enough lyrium to take away his shakes but he'd need tenfold that to even wind a mage like him. He wisely shut his mouth, his expression falling as he cast his eyes downwards. With fumbling hands he pulled Fenris on to his front, using his bound arms like a handle to manoeuvre him and making the elf hiss in pain again. Carver stroked his back and thighs as though that would make up for it, and Hawke snorted derisively. He tilted Fenris’ chin up, letting him breathe, letting him watch his he stroked his hard cock inches away from his face and smiled at him. His thighs were being carefully pried open and he didn't know what made him feel more nauseous.

"You're so beautiful, Fenris. Isn't he beautiful? Maker, I am so lucky," Hawke said as he pressed his thumb against Fenris’ mouth. Every word was like a splinter being forced under his skin, and it sickened him that there was still a part of him that was eager for his praise, for his approval, "You look like that, all that lyrium on you, showing it off - you must smell like a three course meal to a starving templar. I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner in a place like Kirkwall."

"It's because you're keeping him safe. _Were_ keeping him safe," Caver said bitterly, surprising Fenris. Hawke's smile soured and faded, his expression suddenly ugly and his aura prickly. He was dangerous like that, when his moods could switch with the slightest provocation. He placed a hand protectively on Fenris’ head and tugged his hair. From behind there was the sound of the seal on the box of salve being broken. Fenris shuddered and closed his eyes but a sharp slap across his face brought him back to attention; Hawke wanted to watch him and be watched by him.

Knees knocked his legs even further apart and there was a drawn out moment of silence that could have crushed Fenris before a single finger, thick and cool with salve, pressed at his entrance. It was obvious Carver had never done anything like that before: going too far too fast, trying to push in a second finger before he was even up the second knuckle. Unable to move away or even resist, Fenris growled in frustration and pain. Hawke let go of his hair to snap his fingers at his brother. His face was dark with arousal and anger, a sight that would have sent daggers of heat straight to his groin once but only left him cold instead, "Slowly. Go slowly, don't you dare hurt him."

There was no response, but the fingers creeping inside him slowed to a torturous crawl, working him open, invading him. His body offered no defiance, and something in the salve - elfroot most likely - tingled in a way that threatened to be pleasurable. Fenris wanted to retch; he could withstand pain, he could withstand violence, put pleasure would pull him apart. He wanted to bury his face in the bedsheets and smother himself until it was over but instead Hawke gave another pull of his hair to force his head up. The blunt head of his cock pushed past his slack lips with enough force to almost make him gag, a hot smear of salt on his tongue. Broad warm hands pulled his hips up to angle him better and he felt Carver's chest against his back as he dipped to kiss his shoulder, mouthing the band of lyrium that ran down his spine, his breath hitching at the taste of it. Fenris keened as another hot dick pressed into him, a slow burning drag even with the salve and the crude preparation. Hawke thrust forward to silence him as Carver began to rut slowly, gently almost, and trapped between them he felt he could hardly breathe.

"You can really feel the lyrium in him, can't you?" Hawke hummed, and Fenris hated the hitch in his voice that made his heart beat spike with it. Carver only grunted in response, his forehead pressed against the back of the elf's neck and his soft hair tickling the sensitive skin there. He fucked him with a jarring rhythm, out of time with his brother, out of time with himself, but still enough to drag agonizingly over the sweet spot inside him that made his tattoos flutter weakly. Hawke pulled out of his mouth, smearing saliva and pre-cum down his chin, "Ah love, you're making a mess. You've drooled all over my bedsheets."

The mage sounded amused as though Fenris had just told a joke and let him drop face-down back onto the mattress again. He turned his focus to Carver instead, bringing his head up to kiss at his pale face. Carver tried to twist away from him but he gripped him tightly by the jaw and forced him back again. He kissed him softly at first, deceptively sweet in a way Fenris knew too well, before he drew his lower lip between his teeth and bit down sharply. The templar flinched with a whimper.

"Shh, it's okay. Be good to your big brother and he'll be good to you," Hawke murmured, close enough to smear beads of Carver's blood across his own lips. His hands ghosted along his broad shoulders to his neck and his hips stuttered for a second, long enough for Fenris to choke at the suddenly loss of friction. Clever fingers threaded through his dark hair and tried to coax his head down to meet his cock, still slick with Fenris’ spit. Carver resisted but a short sharp shock of electricity that made him gasp in pain was enough to persuade him to think again, and he reluctantly took his brother's member into his mouth. Hawke made a noise of contentment and pushed forward, smiling, "See? That's better. You're a proper little cocksucker now."

_Always arrogantly running his mouth, always reeling off stupid quips_. He had heard the same brash nonsense a hundred times; before battle and after, standing over the cooling corpses; scandalizing lords and ladies, and comtes and counts. Fenris would roll his eyes and scoff and smile from behind his hair when he thought no-one was looking, smitten and only a little exasperated. He wasn't smitten or exasperated then as Hawke fucked his little brother's mouth slowly, his eyes creased and his grin affably lopsided. He wanted to swipe that grin off his handsome face with steel tipped gauntlets.

"Maker, if I had known that big mouth of your's was actually good for something—“ Hawke said with a breathless laugh. There was a creeping flush across his chest and neck, and his smile was more like bared teeth as his hips snapped forward to make Carver choke. Fenris knew he was close, he had once counted himself lucky to know the signs so well, and without any ceremony he pulled out and came in thick white ropes across Carver’s face.  He stopped thrusting all together and shuddered, not bothering to hide his shame and disgust. Some of the mess dripped off his chin and landed on Fenris’ back, and he could have swore it burned as badly as the lyrium potion had. Hawke gripped his little brother by the hair, leaning forward to lick a streak of cum off his nose.

“Keep going. Are you going to finish soon?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and on the edge of breathiness, “Are you going to cum inside him?”

Carver nodded jerkily and began to work his hips again. Hawke tightened his fist, “Yes! Y-yes, I’m going to—I’m going to—“

He choked on the words, unable to force them out past his gritted teeth. The hand in his hair released him, and he dropped his head to rest between Fenris’ shoulders. The elf wanted him to finish already, for his ordeal to be over as Carver pistoned relentlessly into him.  It didn’t take long until he broke with a sob, his teeth digging into the meat of Fenris’ shoulder as he came deep inside him. Fenris could feel the creeping insidious warmth of it, and the wetness (just cum, or would there be blood too?) when Carver pulled out and rolled off him immediately. He pressed his face to mattress, not wanting to look at either of the brothers.

Carver wiped his face with the sheets, got to his feet and silently began pulling his clothes back on. Hawke watched him from where he languished on the bed, satiated and yet still predatory. With a lazy wave of a hand, he broke the binding spell on Fenris’ hands, but the elf was still too weak to move. He made a cooing noise as he stroked his tattooed arms, trying to coax some life back into them.

“He’s going to kill you for this,” Carver said. He sounded small and very far away, “Both of us.”

“Don’t be so _dramatic_ , Carver,” Hawke tittered dismissively. He got out of bed and pulled a few more bottles from his robes. He pressed most of them into Carver’s slack hands, but he held up one little vial and shook it, “He’s going to wake up tomorrow with a sore throat and a blinding headache, smelling of wine. I’ll tease him about it and he’ll curse me. I’ll feed him up with water and bread and honey then I’ll make love to him in the afternoon, and again in the evening. He’ll adore me with every inch of his body.”

Carver jerked his head sharply to watch as his brother climb back into bed and rolled Fenris onto his back. The elf moaned, his eyes rolling, but Hawke simply shushed him. He tipped the little vial between his lips and stroked his throat to make him swallow; he growled and thrashed weakly for a moment, but gradually fell still again. He was completely unconscious, “You’ve done this before.”

“And I’ll do it again, and you – dear brother – will never so much as breathe a word of it, because while he loves me, _you_ are expendable,” Hawke smiled as he settled back onto his pillows, Fenris curled up in his lap, “I imagine you’re used to the feeling by now. Shut the door behind you on the way out, will you?”

 


End file.
